"I look after exotic birds," the former Hollywood vice queen informs the politely nodding housemates. "I Skype my puppies." Whatever you say, Heidi, who, having been banged up, has no problem with Day One's breakfast: porridge without milk.

Although by the time Hard Face gets around to the sage observation "Thank God for abortion", it's anyone's guess if Bible bashing Baldwin, otherwise in her thrall, will include or omit this particular sentiment at the nightly prayer ritual in the Big Brother bedroom.

There's another Jordan boyfriend too, Dane Bowers, and another SB, no not Susan Boyle (yet), but Stephanie Beacham, gay icon, who tells us her dog's got a tattoo.

Vinnie Jones, clearly after that proper job in EastEnders, turns up looking like the long lost dad of X Factor runner up Olly Murs, Now there's a storyline waiting to happen. And here comes the token black pop person, S'isqo. As yet there is no George Galloway, but Geoff Hoon could do worse than a stretch inside here after the week he's had.

Laughing alarm clocks in the shape of clowns, by each bed, have impossibly wide open mouths providing a comforting touch for any of Jordan's squeezes who forgot to pack a piccy of her.

Enough is enough of listening to Reid moaning about media intrusion (he's being paid to have 46 cameras trained on him) and when Nicola Tits asks Stephanie Beacham, “Er, are you like, an actress?” we know Jonathan Ross's warm chat host seat will be staying as vacant as she for a little while yet.

Where the final Doctor Who went out with a bang, the TV event of the month seems set to go out with a whimper unless producers start to do some of that naughty selective editing.

On launch night, housemates had five minutes to fit inside a Mini, winning themselves two bottles of champagne, between 12, which were handed into the custody of Alcoholics Anonymous member Baldwin.

Teetotal and happy, he reminded us all of the famous AA serenity prayer that begins "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change," without once casting an ironic sideways glance at his fellow motley crew.

In the case of this year's CBB, he might have added, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

*****

ISN'T there something great, something heartwarming about the last two tortured souls of Gallifrey? Whatever happens, however bad and mad it gets, they still love each other.

On one side of the coin, The Master: still crazy after all these years. On the flipside, The Doctor: the Timelord with a heart (actually, make that two). Theirs is the love/hate relationship to, literally, end them all.

And with the first day of the year came part two of Christmas special The End of Time – (BBC1, Friday Jan 1) that brought together Alias Smith and Saxon for one last wheeze.

In these short TV confines, time, in every sense, was the essence. There were as many plot strands and back stories running riot as there were loose

ends to tie up. It was left to the 10th and, arguably, best ever Doctor, David Tennant, to drive a huge bolt of valedictory emotion through the most ambitious storyline of Russell T Davies' six-year stint as resurrector of the series.

John Simm, reprising his impressive portrayal of The Master, was even more dangerous to know, thoroughly enjoying himself with white hair and tearing into whole cooked turkeys and human beings with equal, casual ease; leaping about like Springheel Jack and turning the entire population of the world into his own image and likeness. The Master Race, of course.

This was when not being bothered by the continual four-time beat that the Timelords implanted in his head aged eight. The only thing he didn't do was jump up and start singing "I've Got Rhythm", but he could have.

We've heard so much about the Time Lords, that when they turned up to this particular New Year party it was a bit of a let-down. Led by Timothy Dalton as The Lord President, they mostly stood there in a wooden huddle, a bunch of pantomime villains, tapping the tables in that same pulse of four which the Ood had cheerfully informed us would signal the Doctor's death.

Nevertheless, there were amusing moments, like the Carry On Doctor-style rescue of DT, while tied to a chair, carried out by little green aliens: "this is the worst rescue EVER".

Others made the impossible believable: notably where the Doc leaps from a spaceship catfight and plummets hundreds of feet, smashing through a glass dome and landing on the floor with such a sickening thud that no one could fail to shudder. Just in time for the bit where it turned out that the Time Lords had a cunning plan all along to end all physical life and become a collective consciousness.

But the Master, of course, stepped in and saved the day - well, eternity - before despatching him and all of them back to the time lock, leaving the Doctor to rescue Bernard Cribbins, who, it turns out, was part of his death destiny all the time, when we had all presumed it was dopey Donna who was key to it all. After all, that was what we were extensively told in the last series. Cribbins' character, Wilfred Lott, has accidentally locked himself in a space vault filled with lethal radiation, and by swapping places with him, the Doctor seals his own fate.

Are you keeping up with this? No? Just as well there's replay. There was stacks more, but as producers saw fit to play sardines and condense a three episoder-epic into two, with scant explanations for most of the big ideas, I'm not convinced you or I would be able to take much more in the space allowed here.

Writer Davies, also outgoing, hit TV gold with his own supernova incarnation of what is essentially still a kids TV show, despite the many gay references some critics regarded as gratuitous.

Meanwhile, Tennant, who is never pictured falling out of nightclubs, or snorting coke, is the role model who unfortunately has taken ownership of this one, just as surely as Tom Baker did long ago.

Only time will tell if subsequent pretenders will be taken to the bosom of the nation as warmly, or will be regarded merely as tenants, lowercase, of the TARDIS. "I don't want to go," trembled the tenth one, signing off, and we shook our heads in equal dismay. All mad, starey eyes then spectacularly burning up, gone from our screens forever, fading as new boy Matt Smith appeared in his place. In his suit, in his shoes.

And yes, he might have a hard act to follow, this kid. But blimey, talk about spoilers.

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The Doctor dived out of a space ship, crashed through a glass dome and landed onto a marble floor and survived, without so much as breaking a bone or chipping a tooth.Tom Baker, on the other hand, simply fell off Jodrell Bank and onto some grass and ended up regenerating. You would have thought that a Scouser was harder than that, wouldn't you?

As an avocado of Doctor Who whose memories stretch as far back as the very first epsidode with William Hartnell as the sergeant and the two school teachers Chesterfield and Barbara Castle, it is always difficult to accept the regeneration into a new Doctor. When the 1st Doctor transformed into Patrick MacGoohan I hated him for the first two episodes and then cried for weeks when four years later he turned into Worzel Gummidge. Of course then we got Liverpool's very own Hylda Baker with a long floppy scarfe a bag of pickled babies and "ooh i must get a little hand on this sonic screwdriver" he became THE Doctor and although after he left we had some good moments with the Vet, Dickie Davison only Tennament has fully embraced the role. That is why we are all ready to hate the new kid as we have hated all the new kids until after a couple of episodes you accept them and are back on track shouting you can't do that, what about the Blimovitch effect?